


Scorched Earth

by Ivy_B



Series: 100 fics in 100 days [3]
Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Does Jeremy not have a character tag?, F/M, Gen, Language, Post 1x10, barely there Miles/Nora, major character deaths, not a happy fic, written before 1X11, written during the hiatus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-27 17:08:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/664410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivy_B/pseuds/Ivy_B
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monroe catches up to the Matheson party outside of Springfield, Illinois and exacts his revenge.</p><p>First posted to my lj and nbc_revolution</p><p>ETA: SebastianDragon made <a href="http://sebastiandragon.tumblr.com/post/79176446882/done-for-ivy-bs-scorched">THIS</a> lovely artwork to go with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scorched Earth

Miles shifts the kitchen curtain aside as he keeps a look out from the front of the farmhouse. They're taking shelter at a Rebel-friendly farmhouse, just outside of Springfield, Illinois, on their way to St. Louis. Rachel is keeping watch at the back and Miles can't help but feel relieved at the short reprieve from her company. Ever since they rescued Danny and found out Rachel was still alive things between them have been… Tense. They've managed to keep things civil, working together out of necessity, rather than choice. Rachel still hasn't forgiven him for what he did to her- not that he blames her, he still hasn't forgiven himself- and he's not sure if she ever will.

Hell, he's not sure if Charlie will ever completely forgive him either. It was easier with Danny- he didn't seem to expect much from his uncle or his mother, but when Charlie first found out… Well, she was pissed. The yelling he actually welcomed, it's the hurt and disappointed look in her big watery eyes that he couldn't stand to bear. He figured this was it, that she'd finally give up on him and he wouldn't have to be burdened by her faith in him. He was packing his gear when she cornered him.

_"Where do you think you're going?" Charlie asked his angrily._

_"I dunno yet, probably head west towards the border," Miles shrugged, trying not to meet her eye. "I kept my promise, I got Danny back. You don't need me anymore; there's no reason for me to stay."_

_"Miles-"_

_"I get it," he stood and shouldered his pack. "I told you I was a monster; you just didn't want to believe me."_

_"You're not a monster," she insisted, but with far less conviction than last time. "I knew you did terrible things, I guess it was just easier to accept it when it didn't affect me."_

_"That's life, kid," Miles chuckled humorlessly._

_"Maybe," Charlie sighed, shaking her head. "My parents are partially responsible for the end of the world. My mom gave Monroe enough power to probably take over North America," she gave him a crooked smile and a shrug. "I don't know if I can forgive you for taking my mom away, but I **definitely** won't forgive you if you just bail on us, without trying to fix things."_

_"Not everything can be fixed," Miles warned her, but the desire to flee abated. He couldn't abandon her, not if she asked him to stay. He realized in the tunnel leading to Philly that she'd weaseled her way into his heart; that he loved her and he couldn't let her down. She's the only person left who still believes in him, God only knows why._

_"You've changed, Miles," Charlie continued. "The guy that took my mom and founded the Militia? General Matheson? You're not him anymore. Maybe we can't fix things, maybe we're just delusional- but we can't just give up without a fight. We have to **try** , even if we fail." Charlie turned around to return to camp and asked over her shoulder: "You coming?"_

_'You're better off without me,' Miles thought to himself, as he wordlessly followed her. A voice from long ago answered him back: ' **But what makes you think you're better off without her?** '_

 

Miles shakes himself from his reverie, wishing not for the first time that he was back in his bar in Chicago, drinking himself to death. This wasn't his fight, because Miles Matheson didn't fight for lost causes. Nora was the one who stupidly believed the United States could be restored, Charlie believed in smaller causes- helping locally, one person at a time; righting one wrong after another. And Rachel… Rachel believed in those damn pendants.

Rachel said there were other scientists out there, that they had their own pendant and could help. That they could figure out a way to stop Monroe, to maybe get the power back globally. But so far none of the addresses they went to panned out. The places were trashed- no scientists and no pendants- someone obviously beat them to the punch. Rachel insisted it wasn't Monroe, that he didn't know about these locations. Aaron mentioned a similar sight welcoming him and Maggie at Grace Beaumont's place... Which meant that there's a third party out there, collecting their own scientists and pendants. Which is just… Swell.

They still have roughly 100 miles to travel to the rendezvous point at St. Louis and Miles wants to hit the road already, put as much distance between themselves and The Militia as possible. But the last scuffle took its toll and they need to lick their wounds and heal, before they can travel again. Miles glances out the window again for any suspicious activity, before he heads back to the living-room area.

"How's he doing?" He asks Charlie, folding his arms and leaning against the wall.

"I'm fine," Danny insists, even though he can't hide his wince, when she ties the bandage on his leg a little too tight.

"He'll live," Charlie gives her brother an evil smile, before turning her attention back to Miles. "What are the chances that this farm has a horse or two?"

"None," Nora shakes her head as she walks back into the room carrying supplies. Aaron follows her a moment later, holding as many items as he can in his uninjured left arm, his right arm in a makeshift sling. They dump their supplies on the floor and Nora quickly starts sorting through it. "Bill told me the Militia took all his livestock a few years ago. They were gracious enough to leave him his crops, provided he pays his taxes on time."

"Speaking of your rebel-groupie buddy, shouldn't he be back by now? I thought he just went into town for some supplies?"

"He's not late _**yet**_ ," Nora says hesitantly. "If he's not back in 4 hours, then we can worry."

"I don't want us to still _**be here**_ in 4 hours," Miles says tiredly, rubbing his eyes. "The Militia's too close, we need to get moving, not give them time to catch up."

"I'm not sure if Danny can walk, without opening up his stitches," Charlie tell him, biting her lower lip.

"I'll be fine," Danny puts his hand on her arm and squeezes briefly. "Uncle Miles is right, we need to get moving." He tries to get up on his own, but stumbles the minute he puts weight on his leg. Charlie catches him before he can hit the ground and gives Miles a pointed look.

"We can help support his weight," Aaron offers. "We might be slower, but we'll be moving at least."

"Yeah, ok," Miles grabs his bag, as Charlie and Aaron flank Danny from either side. "Nora, go get Rachel- tell her we're leaving." Nora nods, puts the supplies in her bag and gets up. Before she can take another step, Rachel rushes in.

"Militia- out back," she says out of breath. "I counted twenty, maybe thirty."

"God damnit!" Miles runs to the front and looks through the window again. Sure enough, he can see thirty men coming up the hill, led by Jeremy. "They're flanking us."

"What's the plan?" Aaron asks, trying not to panic. "Do we even have a plan?"

"Bill said that there's an underground tunnel from the cellar that leads to the river," Nora tells them. "The Rebels dug it, in case they need to make a hasty retreat."

"Right, take Danny and go, we'll cover you," Miles tells Charlie, Rachel and Aaron.

"We should set up booby traps," Nora lays her equipment down on the floor and gets to work.

"I'll help," Aaron volunteers. "Just tell me what I need to do."

"We should all go," Charlie insists.

"Shut up," Miles snaps.

"Miles-"

"Shhh, listen!" He warns them. He sees the growing look of terror on their faces and knows they've heard it too. He goes to the front and looks out the window again- Jeremy's men are getting closer- before he looks to the sky. It's a chopper, a fucking chopper.

 _ **"Matheson party**_ ," Monroe's amplified voice booms at them from the chopper. " _ **You're surrounded. You have no where to run or hide and we'd rather not waste any ammo or men; surrender now and your death will be quick and painless**_."

"What's Emperor Palpatine doing outside of his lair?" Aaron whispers frantically.

"He's probably on his way to the Plains front," Rachel swallows, gripping Danny tightly. "There's been an increase in 'activity' in St Louis; I guess he's finally going to squash it for good."

"We can't go through the tunnel," Miles watches as The Militia gets closer. "The Militia on the ground might not see us- but Monroe in that chopper? He'll see us surfacing and gun us down in minutes."

"So what do we do?" Danny asks, shifting his weight between his sister and mother. "We can't just give ourselves up."

"We won't," Nora says tersely. "I'd rather blow myself up and half of those assholes with me, than surrender to Monroe."

"We need to get that chopper down," Miles says, eying it wearily.

"How, exactly?" Aaron asks. "Are we gonna throw stuff at it? 'Cause I think I forgot my Bazooka in my other pants."

"Aaron, not now," Miles snaps at him and risks another glance out the window. Jeremy's men are about forty feet from the farmhouse, approaching carefully, fully armed. "I think I've got an idea," Miles grimaces. He reaches a tentative hand and opens the window a crack, before hiding again behind the wall. "Captain Baker!" He yells and checks for a reaction.

"Yes, former General Matheson?" Jeremy yells back, looking way too amused.

"I'll give myself up, but I'm done rolling over for just anyone- tell General Monroe that I'll surrender to him and him alone. Then I'll negotiate for the others."

"Miles, what are you doing?" Rachel asks suspiciously.

"I'm buying you some time," Miles explains. "Monroe won't be able to resist the opportunity. The minute the chopper lands- make a run for the tunnel."

"You can't!" Charlie tells him emphatically. "He _**hates**_ you- he'll kill you on the spot!"

"Maybe," Miles agrees. "Maybe he'll parade me around first or torture me. Maybe he'll keep me around as a souvenir. But he'll kill you without blinking an eye. At least this way you've got a fighting chance."

"Miles, you need to stop doing this," Charlie huffs a choked laugh, her eyes welling up. "Or people might think you actually give a shit."

"Can't have that," Miles gives her a tiny grin. "I've got a reputation to uphold."

"Miles-"

"You need to move fast and Danny's injured," Miles tells Rachel. "Go to the cellar and start making your way through the tunnel. Nora-"

"I'll signal them when the chopper hits the ground," she nods at him, her mouth set in a grim line. "For the record- I'm not crazy about this plan of yours."

"Believe me, I'm not crazy about it either," Miles shrugs. "But it's the best play we've got. Who knows, Monroe might just be crazy enough to keep me alive."

"Knowing him, I'm not sure that's the better option," she says darkly.

"Nora-"

"I'll do my best to keep them safe," she tilts her head at the others. "It won't be easy though- they're trouble magnets."

"Tell me about it," he rolls his eyes and they share a look.

"I'll go set up some surprises, in case they decide to storm the place." She walks out of the room with a determined stride.

"Right, I should help her; three hands are better than two," Aaron shuffles out of the room as well.

"Miles," Charlie seems at a loss for words, probably for the first time since he's met her.

"I know," he says. "But this is your fight, not mine. Everything I touch, everything I get involved it… I screw it up, or taint it. I need to do this and I need you to keep fighting. Because if anyone can win this hopeless battle, it's you stubborn idiots," he looks at Danny and Rachel in turn. Charlie rushes over to him and engulfs him in a tight hug; he squeezes his eyes shut, savoring the feeling and whispers in her ear: "Give him hell for me." She steps back and nods, wiping stray tears from her eyes.

"Rachel…" Miles starts.

"You took care of Charlie and you rescued us," she gives him a small nod. "You kept your promise- I got to see my kids again. I'm grateful for that."

"I'm sorry, for everything," he apologizes officially for the first time. "If I could take it back-"

"I know," she says. "Me too."

"Danny, try not to get yourself kidnapped again," Miles warns.

"I'll do my best," Danny smiles at him, as the three make their way to the cellar. Nora and Aaron return and they wait in silence for a few tense moments.

"Miles Matheson!" Jeremy announces. "General Monroe accepts your terms." They hear the chopper drawing nearer and watch through the window as it lands.

"Show time," Miles mutters, turning to Nora. "You should go signal the others." Nora grabs his face and kisses him goodbye, before retreating quickly, not meeting his eyes. "Aaron, make sure Nora doesn't decide to stick around for the fireworks."

"Right," Aaron says and he quickly squeezes Miles' shoulder, before heading after her. Miles waits until he sees Monroe exiting the chopper and coming forward, his men forming a shield around him.

"I'm unarmed and I'm coming out!" Miles yells out the window, making sure not to step on the trip wire on his way to the door. He takes a deep breath and opens the door, raising his arms over his head. He discreetly nudges the door closed with his foot, before he steps away from the house. His eyes lock onto Monroe's and he swallows at the blazing anger directed at him. He slowly makes his way over, trying to buy the others a few more precious moments.

"Monroe," he greets him.

"Hands behind your back," Monroe tells him without preamble. Miles complies and Jeremy comes over with a pair of handcuffs. "No, tie his hands with rope," Monroe corrects him. Jeremy shrugs and gets rope from one of his men. "Now," Monroe tells Miles, giving him a sardonic grin. "You wanted to negotiate their surrender? Captain Baker, tell me- do we negotiate with terrorists?"

"No sir, we do not," Jeremy answers, his arm resting on the hilt of his sword. Four Militia goons raise their guns and aim them at Miles.

"Monroe, look- Nora's got the whole place wired to explode," Miles warns him. "You storm the place and you'll have dozens of dead soldiers."

"What do you suggest then," Monroe smirks at him. "I just let them go? You know I can't do that."

"I know," Miles says. "But you can take them in alive."

"And why should I do that? Your _**family**_ has been a thorn in my side for far too long." He takes a step closer, invading Miles' space and lowers his voice. "Besides, I already have you. What could you _**possibly**_ barter with?"

"I'll give you the locations of other Rebel Camps," Miles doesn't meet his eyes. "I'll give you names, numbers, whatever you want."

"You'd sell out your comrades?"

"It's not my Resistance, these aren't my men," Miles shrugs casually. "They're a bunch of blind idiots playing at being soldiers; they'll get themselves killed anyway sooner or later."

"That's cold, but I guess loyalty doesn't mean much to you these days," Monroe glares at him. "We'll get the information out of you eventually- I think Major Neville has been _ **itching**_ to see you again," Monroe gives him a smug grin. "And I'm not too worried about the so-called-Resistance, because, like you said, they're in way over their heads. I'll find them soon enough."

"You'd be stupid to kill them," Miles keeps going, trying to buy them more time. "Rachel knows where there are other scientists, other pendants. She can build you weapons, amplifiers, whatever you want."

"We already tried that once- she built a bomb and tried to kill me," Monroe counters. "I can't trust her to keep her word."

"Which is why you need the kids, to help keep her in line."

"I'd only need _**one**_ of the kids for that."

"You need them both, in case you need to make a point- you need to have a spare." Miles swallows thickly and continues. "They're smart kids and tough, if you conscript them you'd have good, loyal soldiers as well as leverage."

Monroe grins at him widely. "I always did love that twisted brain of yours. Go on, then. What about Ms. Clayton and Google guy?"

"Aaron's good with computers and smarter than the both of us combined. He can help Rachel with whatever it is you need." Miles pauses, racking his brain. "Nora… Well you can use her for slave labor, I guess."

"That was a bit weak." Monroe sounds disappointed.

"I know, I tried my best," Miles counts in his head how long since the chopper landed, how much of a head start he managed to buy them. He needs to stall for more time. "If you let them live, I'll do anything you want."

"You're already in our custody," Monroe smirks. "I _**have**_ you and I can do whatever I want with you."

"I'd come back."

Monroe's eyes narrow in anger. "You had your chance, remember? That offer is no longer on the table. We're done with this game," he tells Miles, before giving Jeremy some kind of signal. Jeremy nods and whistles to some of his men, who follow him in the direction of the house. Monroe closes the gap between them and whispers in Miles' ear. "You'd do it though, wouldn't you? You'd sell out the Rebels, you'd come crawling back to me and do _**anything**_ I wanted, if it meant I'd let them live."

"They're my _**family**_ , not that you'd know anything about it," Miles twists the knife and sees the look of hurt on Monroe's face, before he manages to school his expression. Miles is tired of this game and he just hopes he bought them enough time to get away.

"Yes, they _**are**_ ," Monroe nods, his eyes blazing. "You know what the problem with hostages is? You've got exactly one play with them. You can't kill them, at least not all of them because you need them alive to use as leverage. But they don't share your sentiment, they aren't grateful that you spare their lives. No, they keep trying to fight, to escape, to kill you, despite your leniency."

Miles waits for the sound of explosions and gun fire to rip the air, but it doesn't come. He glances at the house, but Jeremy and his men aren't there- where the hell did they go?

"The farmer who lives here- Bill Jennings?" Monroe says conversationally. "He seems to have this nasty habit of stowing Resistance members on his property. Our local Garrison picked him up a few months ago."

Miles' heart skips a beat and his panic must show on his face, because Monroe gives him a toothy grin. "It seems he cares about his own life a lot more than he cares about your cause. It didn't take us long to break him, but we let him live, despite his acts of treason, providing he gives us intel on anyone passing through his farm. He kept his word and came running the minute you showed up. Unfortunately, he probably blew his cover, so we had to dispose of him. And yes, Miles- we know about the secret tunnel, we've had an ambush set up the minute we got here."

Miles hears shouting and watches in dawning horror as more Militia men, led by Jeremy, come up the hill with his family in tow. Danny is being dragged by two men, his injured leg bent at an odd angle; Charlie is shouting and struggling in the clutches of three men and Rachel is walking on her own, a rifle to her back, clearly sensible enough to know when to give up. Aaron appears next, his face bruised and Miles feels a ridiculous sense of pride that he put up a fight. Finally an unconscious Nora is dragged between two more men, beaten and bleeding.

"Miles!" Charlie sees him and renews her struggle against her captors.

"Charlie!" Miles struggles against the rope binding his arms and tries to run towards them. Three pairs of arms grab his shoulders roughly and he feels a sharp blade resting against his throat. "Bass, you son of a bitch-"

"Oh it's Bass now, is it?" Monroe asks Miles mockingly. Jeremy jogs over to Monroe, who tells him: "Have your men get them inside and secure them. Be careful, Ms. Clayton left a few surprises for us- make sure the kids go first."

"Yes, sir," Jeremy says quickly, but offers Miles an apologetic glance, before relaying his order. Miles doesn't like this- there's no reason to take them back to the house. If he wanted them alive, he'd secure them to the wagon. If he wanted to kill them, he could line them up right here and shoot them. Why is he taking them back to the house?

"Please, Bass," Miles tries again. "I'm _**begging**_ you-"

"I _**begged**_ you to come back!" Monroe seethes. "I told you I'd give you anything, that I'd let them live. What did you tell me? That I wasn't your family anymore, that I was _**nothing**_ to you. Do you have _**any**_ idea what it's like to lose _**everything**_ , your whole family not once, but twice?"

"I'm sorry, ok? I hurt you, I get it! So take it out on me, just don't kill them." Miles pleads, struggling against the men holding him. "I'll do anything, _**please**_ , just let them live!"

"We already played this game," Monroe says, sounding bored. "Just remember that this is on you- you made your choice and now you have to live with it." He waits until the men return from the house, before he says to Miles: "How much explosives do you think Nora stashed there? Shall we find out?" He turns back to Jeremy. "Tell you men to keep their distance and guard the exits. Torch the place."

"You _**bastard**_!" Miles shouts at him. "You fucking bastard!"

"Sir, wouldn't it be easier and more humane to just shoot them?" Jeremy asks, ignoring Miles.

"I told them that if they surrendered their death would be quick and painless- they didn't. They don't get that luxury now, they get to suffer and burn to death," Monroe says in clipped tones. "And it's not about what's easier, it's about sending a message." He looks at Miles pointedly.

"Yes, sir," Jeremy says and turns to his men. He hesitates a moment, before giving the order: "Light it up!"

"NOOO!!!" Miles yells and tries to dislodge the men holding him. He keeps fighting their hold, rubbing his wrists raw and bloody as he tries to release his hands. He alternates between begging Bass and cursing him; he can see the smoke and the rising flames beyond the curtain in the kitchen. He shouts and screams until he starts to lose his voice; his throat feels like sandpaper and his heart is hammering in his ears. 'It's not too late, the flames haven't spread yet, I can get them out-'

he first explosion rocks the ground, before setting off a string of larger ones. Miles loses his footing and ends up banging his face in the ground. He grunts and looks up to see the whole house on fire. The men guarding him momentarily loosen them hold and he shakes them off, jumping to his feet and running towards the house. He's got no plan; he just knows he needs to get to them. He can feel the heat from the fire licking at his skin, he's almost there-

Only to get tackled by Jeremy. Miles elbows Jeremy in the face and struggles to get to his feet. "Get off of me! Jeremy! _**Let me go**_!"

"Miles stop! You can't help them," Jeremy wrestles with him, until three more men finally manage to grab Miles and drag him back. "They're dead, man," Jeremy says with a pained expression. "There's nothing you can do for them now."

"He knows," Monroe says, walking in front of a kneeling Miles and blocking his view of the house. The flames dance between his curls, giving him a twisted halo. "He knows deep down that they're gone, but there's still this little sliver of hope," Monroe's tone is almost kind, as he looks down at Miles with pity. "As long as you don't see their bodies, they're not dead. Maybe they got away, maybe they're only hurt. Maybe the hospital got the wrong family." His voice cuts like a knife. Miles can't think, can't talk and he forgets how to breathe, watching numbly as the flames continue their vicious dance.

"When the flames die down, we'll take you inside so that you can see their burnt corpses; _**if**_ you can still recognize their mangled bodies." Monroe promises him darkly, kneeling down next to him. "That's when it'll hit you, that's when you'll finally realize that in one moment, you've lost _**everything**_ and you have nothing left."

Monroe grabs Miles by the shoulders and leans in, resting their foreheads together. "The pain and grief and _**guilt**_ will overwhelm you. All you'll want is a way out, an end to your suffering, to die as well- because you'll know that it should have been you." His voice is soothing as it stabs him in the gut. "But I won't let you, just like you didn't let me. _'You've got me'_ ," he echoes a parody of Miles' promise back at him. " _'What the hell would I be without you_?'"

Something in Miles finally cracks and a broken sob tears its way from his heart. He cries for the first time since his mom's funeral and Bass embraces him, whispering to him: "It's ok" and "I'm here, I'm not going anywhere." Miles can't shut the floodgate as his body is wracked with sobs. He looks up through bleary eyes at the burning house, watching as his whole world goes up in flames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From nbc_revolution's Community Prompt Table 011. Charred Remains.
> 
> Yeah, so you know how Rachel stabbed Jaffe to death and cried how sorry she was while doing it? That's me right now. When I prompted this word I just thought it sounded cool, I had no intentions of filling it, nor did it inspire me in any way. And then I thought about the prompt literally and this happened. Be grateful, in my head the whole fic starts with Miles looking at the charred remains of his family. At least I spared him the visual (but Monroe probably won't).


	2. Makers of Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Monroe has finally gotten his revenge and broke Miles completely. It's exactly what he wanted… Isn't it?
> 
> First posted to my lj and nbc_revolution

_  
* "Hateful day when I received life!" I exclaimed in agony. "Accursed creator! Why did you form a monster so hideous that even you turned from me in disgust? God, in pity, made man beautiful and alluring, after his own image; but my form is a filthy type of yours, more horrid even from the very resemblance."_

_* "Once my fancy was soothed with dreams of virtue, of fame, and of enjoyment. Once I falsely hoped to meet with beings who, pardoning my outward form, would love me for the excellent qualities which I was capable of unfolding. I was nourished with high thoughts of honour and devotion. But now crime has degraded me beneath the meanest animal. No guilt, no mischief, no malignity, no misery, can be found comparable to mine. When I run over the frightful catalogue of my sins, I cannot believe that I am the same creature whose thoughts were once filled with sublime and transcendent visions of the beauty and the majesty of goodness. But it is even so; the fallen angel becomes a malignant devil. Yet even that enemy of God and man had friends and associates in his desolation; I alone."_

\- **Mary Shelley, "Frankenstein"**

~*~

Bass flies with a captive Miles to St. Louis, arriving a day ahead of Jeremy and his men. The so called uprising in St. Louis has been a thorn in his side for too long; it's given The Plains Nation and Georgia Federation the mistaken notion that he's weak, that his Republic is frail. For too many years he's lost sleep at night, worried about an all-out war, concerned over his soldiers at the border and within their own territory- a place that was supposed to be a safe haven for them. Isn't that why they've founded the Republic in the first place? To restore order and a sense of security, to let people feel _**safe**_ again?

He ignores a reticent Miles completely, but makes sure he's guarded round the clock. Miles hasn't said a word since… Since _**then**_ and he hasn't put up any opposition- but Bass isn't taking any chances. He tells himself that he's keeping Miles alive to watch all that he's fought for crumble to dust. That he wants Miles to witness the famous St. Louis Resistance fall in one fell swoop. He doesn't interrogate Miles, doesn't ask him about those other Rebel Camps, because he's got more important things on his mind. When they get back to Philly, Tom can interrogate him to his heart's content; he's washed his hands of Miles Matheson.

Quenching the Rebellion ends up being a short and anti-climactic affair. All the planning and preparation that went into it… And within a day, all their bases are burnt to a crisp and all the members of the Resistance are either dead, captive or a handful of them are on the run. Bass congratulates his men on their victory, but it feels hollow to him. It wasn't a war or a battle… It was a massacre.

"I'm sure it won't be this easy with The Plains or Georgia," Jeremy tries to console him. "Who knows, we might even lose some men, before we conquer them."

"Losing men is not a joking matter, Captain Baker," Bass chides him quickly. "Today was a good day- things went smoothly, no lives were lost and few were injured. Today was a victory."

"Then why do you look like you were on the losing side?" Jeremy asks, before remembering himself. "Sir-"

"I want you to stay and make sure Captain Burke has everything here under control, before you head back home."

"Yes, sir!" Jeremy solutes him. Bass dismisses him and sighs tiredly. He thought he'd be happier right now, but instead there's this numbing emptiness at the pit of his stomach that he doesn't want to examine too closely.

They return to Philly and he hands Miles over to an eager Major Neville. He tells Tom to do no permanent harm to his prisoner and to report back when he has the locations of the Rebel Camps, and any other information Miles can provide.

"It'll be my pleasure, Sir," Tom tells him with a gleeful grin. Bass swallows a lump in his throat and gives Tom a tight grin. He closes himself off in his office, pouring over maps and battle plans for the upcoming battles.

His nights are restless- it's hard for him to fall asleep and he spends hours staring at the ceiling and trying not to think. When he does fall asleep, he's plagued by fragmented dreams, filled with chilling screams for help; billowing smoke; burnt rubber and diesel fumes. He keeps waking up in cold sweats, his heart racing and his hands shaking.

He gets one of his more discreet Lieutenants to find him a different random woman to fuck every night, but he sends them packing before he falls asleep- it wouldn't do to have people talk about President Monroe having nightmares. Eventually even sex loses its appeal and ceases to serve as a distraction.

 

~*~

 

Major Neville steps into his office on the fifth day and announces that he has the information on the Rebel Camps. Bass pours himself a glass of whiskey and sits on the edge of the desk.

"Dr. Jaffe was our "guest" for _**three weeks**_ before he cracked, and that was just because we threatened his daughter," Bass says slowly, swirling his scotch and taking a sip. "Are you telling me you broke Miles _**fucking**_ Matheson in less than a week?"

"No Sir," Neville says, his voice hesitant. " _ **You**_ did. He's nothing more than a ghost of a man these days."

"Then why did it take you five days to get the information?"

"I don't rightly know, Sir. Maybe he wanted to buy the Rebels time, maybe it was the last thing he had that kept him going, or maybe-" he stops suddenly, shaking his head. "I can't tell you what goes on inside his head-"

"What were you going to say?" Monroe asks him, his eyes narrowing.

"Sir, I honestly don't know why Matheson has held on as long as he did," Neville says carefully. "But I think… I think he wanted the… _ **Interrogation**_ to last."

"Why- so he can prolong his life? Miles Matheson isn't afraid to die," Bass says, eyes hard.

"No, he's not. I think he wanted to be tortured," Neville stops mincing words. "I think he wanted to hurt, to suffer physically half as bad as he's suffering emotionally. I think he blames himself for what happened and that guilt was eating him up."

"And now?"

"Now that guilt ate up everything that remained. There's nothing left, no reason to hold on and whatever he gained from the beating is gone as well."

"I see," Bass says placidly, but he feels the whiskey churning in his gut.

"Sir, may I ask what you intend to do with Matheson now?" Neville asks cautiously.

"I have a feeling you want to make a suggestion," Bass says with half a grin. "Go ahead, speak freely."

"Sir… He's given us all the information he can give. The man's spirit is beaten and there's no point in prolonging his agony; he's a traitor to the Republic and should be summarily executed"

"And here I thought you were looking forward to spending quality time with him," Bass says with a mocking smile.

"Miles threatened my wife, so yes- I wanted to make him suffer before slicing his throat myself," Neville says candidly. "But that man isn't Miles Matheson anymore, he's nothing but a shell of his old self. And there's no pleasure to be had at beating a dead horse."

"I see," Bass puts his glass down, stands up and straightens his uniform. "Your opinion is noted, Major. Keep the prisoner in his cell in the meantime and make sure I'm updated on his condition."

"Sir-"

"You're dismissed," Bass tells Tom icily. Tom straightens his stance, checking himself from saying anything further. He snaps to attention and leaves, shutting the door behind him.

 

~*~

 

Tom gives him a brief report on Miles' condition once a day. As soon as Tom stopped questioning him, Miles stopped talking completely. Even when asked a direct question, he just stares blankly ahead.

"I tried to use some physical _ **persuasion**_ ," Tom says dispassionately. "The result is the same- it appears he's said all he's going to say."

A week later he stopped eating. "He doesn't get to decide whether he eats or not," Bass says to Tom angrily. "I don't care if you have to shove it down his throat- make sure he's fed."

Tom never voices his displeasure, but Bass knows it's there all the same. Miles has given them all he can give; now he's just taking up food that could be used for people who deserve it, people who aren't going to be executed.

He can hear the murmurs of the men, knows what they think of him- they're claiming he's lost it, that he's gone soft. Bass knows that every day he lets Miles live; he loses his power and hold over the men. And God knows what that snake Julia's been whispering to Tom about him. He knows he should just do it- he knows Miles would probably prefer to get it over with, instead of lingering in uncertainty. But it's not about what _**Miles**_ wants; it's about what Bass wants- if he ever figures that one out.

 

~*~

 

When Jeremy gets back, Bass summons him to his office. "Miles Matheson hasn't spoken a word in about a week and it seems he's now gone on a hunger strike."

"Miles is still alive?" Jeremy asks in shock. "I thought for sure you'd have had him executed by the time I got back. If you were waiting for me to get the party started, you really shouldn't have."

"I need you to assess his physical and mental wellbeing," Bass says with his back to Jeremy, as he looks out through his window. Miles used to love peering out the window at the men, watching them toil. He never could stop assessing or let his guard down, even in their own little sanctuary.

"Why?"

"Because you're one of his oldest friends- you'd know if he's faking it and up to something."

"But I'm not his _**oldest**_ friend, and why even bother?" Jeremy asks, frowning. "You're going to be executing him anyway, right?"

"We've sent men to the Rebel Camps he's mentioned- but until they report back, we don't know if the information he's given us is legit or not. I need to know if Miles truly broke and if there's anything he's still keeping from us. Is that reason enough for you, Captain Baker?" Bass' tone is nonchalant, but his gaze is piercing.

"Yes, Sir!" Jeremy gives him a crisp solute and Bass dismisses him quickly. He goes through the motions, the work that needs to get done, but he's distracted and on edge. He knows that Jeremy's got a point, that nobody knows Miles like he does, but for some reason, the idea of going to his cell and seeing him terrifies him. He sighs and puts down the pen he was holding, pouring himself another glass of whiskey. He'll have his answers soon enough, though he's not sure if he's ready to hear them.

 

~*~

 

Jeremy returns the next morning, his face crestfallen.

"Miles was never much of an actor- if he's faking it, he deserves an Oscar," Jeremy says with a sigh, as he helps himself and pours two glasses of whiskey, downing one of them, before continuing:

"The lights are on, but nobody's home. I sat in his cell for _**hours**_ , and he didn't say a Goddamm word. I was running my mouth- cursing and badmouthing every single person he's ever known. Then I narrated my favorite soaps, giving him a full rundown of each and every character and storyline over the years. I even started singing the greatest hits from my repertoire: I did Celine Dion, Lady Gaga and even Britney Spears- he barely even blinked, he didn't tell me to shut up or tried to sucker punch me."

"So you think Miles has cracked?" Bass asks quietly, fingering the rim of his glass, but not drinking from it yet.

"I think you finally managed to break him," Jeremy says seriously. "It's what you wanted- isn't it?" Bass doesn't answer; instead he stares at his glass a moment, before downing his drink.

"Thank you for the information, Captain Baker," Bass dismisses him formally.

"Sir- may I speak freely?" Jeremy says in uncharacteristic tentativeness.

"Would it stop you if I said 'no'?" Bass huffs a chuckle. Jeremy shifts on his feet and waits until Bass finally says: "Go ahead."

"I know what Miles means to you," Jeremy says softly. "I know that you don't want him dead, even after everything he did- I get it. You're still hoping that he can come back, that you can get Miles back… But Bass- Miles isn't coming back from this; he's the walking dead and the best thing for everyone involved-especially him- is to put him out of his misery. Putting a bullet between his eyes is the merciful thing to do, for both of your sakes."

"Are you finished?" Bass asks coolly, not meeting his eyes.

"Yes, Sir," Jeremy sighs, resigned. Bass dismisses him once more and this time Jeremy walks out of his office in a heavy stride.

Bass waits a few minutes until he can no longer hear Jeremy's footsteps down the hall. He grabs his glass and tosses it against the wall, feeling satisfied when it smashes to pieces. He leans on his desk, gripping the edges tightly as the room spins for a moment. He closes his eyes and takes deep, calming breaths; trying to get himself under control.

He refuses to fall apart over Miles _**fucking**_ Matheson. If Miles isn't faking it and playing dead, then he's probably just depressed. Bass has been there and he's seen Miles at his lowest lows- something Miles would never let Jeremy witness. Miles is a fighter, he always has been. Even when he's given up, there's always been a spark there, waiting for someone to come and ignite it once more.

 

~*~

 

Bass busies himself with charts and maps all day, going over battle plans, field reports and even inventory. In the evening, when he runs out of things to do, he finally caves and goes to Miles' cell.

It's one of the smaller ones- just a cot and a bucket really- and the chair they bring him takes up the rest of the space. There's a small barred window on the wall over the cot, near the ceiling that lets in a beam of moonlight. The walls are peeling and the air is dank and stinks of excrement. One of the guards tries to insist on staying inside, but there's barely enough room for two, let alone three and Bass doesn't think Miles is stupid enough to try anything.

Bass takes a deep breath, strides into the cell purposely and waits patiently until they lock the cell door. His heart is beating like a jackrabbit in his chest and he tries to calm his nerves, before he talks. "Hello Miles."

Miles completely ignores him, sitting on his cot and staring at the wall. His arms are handcuffed behind his back and his clothes seem to hang off of him. His face is gaunt, tight and his expression stony and unreadable. The guards have been forcing him to drink, but it's not that easy to force down solid foods. They've been feeding him various soups and juices, but it's not enough and he's lost some weight since Bass last saw him.

"You know, hunger strikes tend to be more effective, if you tell someone what you hope to achieve," Bass says pleasantly, sitting on the chair across from him.

Still no response from Miles. "And if this is your way of killing yourself, well it's a bit passive for you, isn't it? Why not bash your head against the wall or something? I bet Charlotte would have done _**something**_ by now, rather than just waste away." That got him a flinch and Bass knows exactly which buttons to push.

"Do you think she'd be proud of you- giving up your Rebel buddies so quickly?" He wonders aloud. "But I guess that's nothing compared to getting her and her whole family killed." Miles' eyes finally, slowly wonder towards Bass in a heated glare, before they return to the wall. He still doesn't talk.

"The Militia was your idea, not mine," Bass says placidly, leaning forward. "You're the one who _**had**_ to restore order- remember when we rescued Jeremy? It wasn't enough that we saved him, oh no- you had to kill those two unarmed men in cold blood, to stop them from killing and robbing other people. You never could leave well enough alone, could you? You always had to do _**something**_. You wrote the rules, Miles; you created the brand and the conscription boats; you trained the men and taught them what to do and how."

Bass' voice gets more animated as he goes on. "And then what do you do? You try and kill your best friend and just abandon me, abandon _**everything**_ you used to believe in. So you have no one to blame but yourself for what happens in your absence." He gets up angrily and pounds twice on the door, signaling that he's done. He scowls at Miles, but he doesn't even look away from the wall. Bass leaves the cell more riled up than he went in, his emotions simmering in his insides.

 

~*~

 

His night is restless. Every time he closes his eyes he sees Miles' eyes from the brief glance he gave him. There was anger there, sure- but there was also hurt and grief and doubt and something else that Bass isn't ready to face yet. He finally gives up on sleep at 4 AM and goes back to Miles' cell. Miles is lying on his side, facing the wall- but Bass knows he's a light sleeper and that he would have heard him. Bass waits as the guard puts the chair back in and shuts the door behind him.

Bass sits down on the chair heavily. "I can't sleep, haven't had a good night's sleep in… weeks," Bass admits, his voice raspy. "Not that I imagine you slept any better. When I do fall asleep, I keep having these dreams…" Bass shakes his head and fights down a shiver. "I need to ask you something, a question I've been asking myself over and over all these years: Why'd you do it, Miles? Why did you try to kill me- _ **twice**_ \- and then cut and run?"

Miles doesn't respond, gives no indication he's even heard him, but once Bass got started, he can't seem to stop. "Dammit Miles! Don't I at least deserve to know _**why**_? If I ever meant _**anything**_ to you, you'd tell me what I did to deserve it!" He takes a shaky breath and tries to control his anger. He doesn't expect an answer, knows it was pointless to even come here. He stands up, pushing back his chair and raps on the door for the guard.

"You went too far."

Bass turns around so fast he gets a kink in his neck. He motions away the guard when he opens the door and sits back down. Miles slowly rolls over onto his other side, facing Bass, but he still doesn't look up at him. "You changed, The Militia changed- for the worse," Miles croaks, his throat raw from disuse. "There was so much blood, I couldn't stomach it anymore, couldn't look the other way."

"Then you should have tried to talk to me-"

"I _**did**_ -"

"You should have tried harder!" Bass nearly yells, before he can get himself under control. "If I were you, I wouldn't have put a gun to your head and then bolted!"

"You wouldn't have even noticed something was wrong," Miles says acerbically. "You stopped caring; all you cared about was power."

"That's not true and you know it," Bass argues vehemently. "I cared about you."

"No, you didn't."

"Of course I did-"

"Really, Bass? You cared about me so much that you let me think Rachel was dead for years and that it was my fault? You cared about me so much that you _**killed**_ my own brother?"

"That was an accident; Tom was under orders to bring him in alive-"

"And then what? After you kidnap him and tear him away from his family- what was the plan, Bass? You'd ask him politely about the blackout and when that fails, what then? Would you have tortured him, hmm? Or would you have tortured Rachel to get him to talk?" Miles lets out a mirthless chuckle. "They're my _**family**_ Bass, it used to mean something to you, but you're so far gone now, that you can't even see it. And what you did to Charlie and Rachel and…"

Miles cuts himself off, coughing slightly. "The Bass I knew would have never done that. The Bass that I found in the graveyard with a loaded gun, who told me he had nothing left and it should have been him- that Bass would have put a bullet in his own brain before doing that to someone else."

"Maybe you shouldn't have saved me then," Bass says. "Maybe you should have let me kill myself."

"I wish I had."

Bass gets up so quickly, he topples the chair over and it crashes loudly to the ground, the sound reverberating through the small cell. He stalks out of the cell, silently fuming, and goes to find Major Neville and see if there are any uncooperative rebels to question.

 

~*~

 

_That night Bass dreams about his first Christmas, after his family was killed, the one he spent with the Matheson clan. He wasn't sure if it was such a good idea, but Miles insisted that if he had to suffer, Bass had to as well. So he put on his best fake smile, the one that always got him laid and prepared himself for a night of misery. Ben opened the door and immediately enveloped him in a tight hug, his mouth tight and his eyes compassionate. He turned to Miles and hugged him warmly._

_"Merry Christmas," Ben told them, as he ushered them inside. Rachel was busy in the kitchen, but when she heard the door she peeked into the hallway._

_"Miles, Bass," she greeted them cheerfully, before hugging each of them in turn and giving them a peck on the cheek. "You're right on time, dinner's almost ready."_

_"Anything we can do to help?" Bass asked politely. Miles mouthed 'we?' at him behind Rachel's back, but Bass ignored him._

_"Well, I don't think that charred chicken is on the menu tonight," she said with an impish grin. "But I appreciate the offer. Go on to the living room, I think someone's been waiting for you."_

_Charlie ran over to Miles the minute she saw him, crying "Uncle Miles!" and grabbing his leg. She studied Bass bashfully and he realized she probably didn't remember him at all._

_"Charlie- you remember my friend Bass, right," Miles squatted down and smiled at her. "He's a bit shy, but I think he really wants to see some of your cool toys- do you want to show him?"_

_Charlie shrugged her shoulders and Miles gently nudged her in Bass' direction. "Benjamin!" Miles called into the kitchen. "Where's mom?"_

_"She's getting Danny ready for dinner," Ben said from the kitchen. "They should be in his room."_

_"I think I'll go say 'hi'," Miles told Bass, before turning to both of them. "Play nice while I'm gone." He warned them with a grin, before disappearing and abandoning Bass._

_Bass sighed, before plastering on a big smile for Charlie. "So Charlotte, what do you want to play?"_

_"Not Charlotte, Charlie," Charlie said with a pout. "Charlotte a spider."_

_"Oh? And what are you?"_

_"A girl!" She said proudly._

_"Are you sure about that?" He asked suspiciously and received a nod in return. "How many legs do you have?"_

_She looked down at her legs and counted aloud: "One… Two!"_

_"And how many arms do you have?"_

_"Two!"_

_"So that's four. How many arms does a spider have?" She gave him a confused look, so he mouthed the number to her._

_"Eight!" They said together._

_"So a spider has eight and you have four. Maybe you're half a spider?"_

_"Noooo!" She exclaimed, laughing. "You a spider!"_

_"I'm a spider?" He pointed to himself and got a giggle in return. "Well, you know what I'm going to do with my eight legs? I'M GONNA HUG YOU TO DEATH!"_

_He chased her around, before managing to grab her in a tight embrace. She squealed and wiggled and they ended up rolling on the floor, laughing. He couldn't recall the last time he truly laughed, the last time he enjoyed himself that didn’t involve booze or sex. It felt liberating, which instantly made him feel guilty for having fun, for forgetting for just a moment about his family._

_He looked up and saw Miles at the entrance, leaning on the couch's back, smiling smugly. "Damn you Miles, you sneaky bastard,' Bass thought to himself, before grinning evilly and whispering to Charlie:_

_"Do you want to help me catch a fly, little spider?" Charlie nodded eagerly and he leaned closer to her. "Uncle Miles is **really** ticklish. When I say 'go', we tickle him until he surrenders to us." She grinned at him and when he said "Go!" They both ran over and tackled Miles to the ground, tickling him._

_"Get off me!" Miles tried to dislodge them, laughing despite himself._

_"Only if you admit defeat and surrender!" Bass declared._

_"What are you, a pirate now?" Miles questioned, before giving up. "Ok, ok- I surrender! Just stop!" They relented and sat back down, grinning at each other._

_Charlie dragged them over to where her games were and they helped her put together a puzzle of The Empire State Building. Miles and Bass shared a smile over Charlie's head and Bass' heart swelled. It still hurts like hell, but he hadn't lost everything. He still had Miles, who would never give up on him. And with Miles' help and support, he might just make it; and Ben, Rachel and the kids were sort of his family by extension. He' wasn't sure what he did to deserve their friendship and love, but he'd always be grateful for it._

 

~*~

 

The reports start coming in the next day- Miles' intel was good. The Militia has desolated the Rebel Camps they've encountered, though some have been abandoned already.

"This is good news," Bass gives Tom a tight smile and dismisses the Lieutenant that gave the report. "Now that we have the Resistance under control, we can focus our efforts on Georgia and The Plains," he tells Tom, as they go over troop deployments. He knows he should be thrilled, but for some reason all he can feel is growing sense of imminent calamity.

He brings his lunch with him that afternoon, when he goes to visit Miles and has the guard uncuff him. Miles still refuses to eat, though the guards continue to force him to drink fluids. He's getting weaker and there's a part of Bass that hurts just seeing him like this, so defeated and a ghost of himself. Bass picks at his food as he holds a one sided conversation, reminiscing about the mischief they used to get into in High School.

"You know, you really should eat something," Bass says, putting down his chicken and wiping his greasy fingers on a napkin.

"Why bother?"

"Because you get cranky when you don't eat," Bass tries to keep things light hearted.

"What are we doing here, Bass?" Miles asks with a sigh, his bleary eyes meeting Bass'.

"Is that an existential question?"

"These visits, these chats- what's the point? I gave you the information you wanted, why am I not dead yet?"

"You might still know something," Bass tries. Miles snorts and Bass knows it must sound like a pathetic excuse.

"You need to kill me," Miles tells him, his eyes slightly glazed. "You can't keep me prisoner. I'm a traitor and I've killed too many Militia men for them to accept anything other than a death sentence. If you don't kill me, they'll think you're weak-"

"I don't give a fuck what they think," Bass says savagely. "I'm the President of this Republic; I give the orders around here, not them."

"I want you to do it," Miles says evenly. "I'm tired Bass, I can't do this anymore. I just need it to end."

"When I wanted to die, to join my family- you wouldn't let me," Bass says, his eyes stinging. "I thought I had nothing left, but you told me I still had you and that was enough for me. You were enough for me to go on- why can't I ever be enough for you?"

Miles doesn't answer and the silence cuts Bass more than any excuse or reason he could have given. "Could you do it," Bass wonders. "If you were me?"

"Yes."

"Liar."

Miles swallows and closes his eyes, leaning back against the wall. "I screw everything up. Everything I touch turns to ash or gets perverted- The Militia, my family, _**you**_." Miles shakes his head sadly. "I keep trying to do the right thing, but all I end up doing is hurting the people I love and getting them killed. I can't do this anymore, Bass. You have to let me go."

"I _**can't**_ ," Bass hisses. "I thought I could- I thought it was what I wanted. You told me I was _**nothing**_ to you, I put down my gun, opened up to you and you just tore my heart to shreds."

He glares at Miles resentfully. "I hated you; all I could think about was hurting you as much as you hurt me. I kept imagining what I'd do to you. Sometimes I'd beat you to a pulp, sometimes I'd flay you alive or maybe just run my sword into your heart. But now, I just… I don't think I can. Even when I hate you… You're all I have left."

"You have The Militia, The Republic, your damn power- isn't that what you wanted?" Miles asks impatiently. "If you don't have the guts to finish the job, get Tom or Jeremy to do it. You took _**everything**_ from me- you burnt my fucking family alive! I am _**begging**_ you- just finish it. Let me go, Bass."

Bass can't look at Miles, can barely breathe. He leaves the cell with the food behind; though he's sure it will go untouched. He blinks back the tears threatening to fall, until he gets to his office. He locks the door behind him and collapses against it, sliding to the floor. For the first time in years, he allows himself to cry.

 

~*~

_  
That night he's back in Iraq with Miles, pinned down by enemy fire. They're waiting for reinforcements, trying to pinpoint the source of origin of the shooting. Suddenly a bullet hits Miles in the chest and this isn't right, this isn't what happened- but Miles crashes to the ground, the blood spreading and soaking up his uniform. Bass doesn't even think about the insurgents or the hail of gunfire all around, lighting up the sky. He rushes over to Miles and cradles his head, trying to put pressure on his wound._

_"You're going to be ok, you're going to be ok," Bass tells Miles pleadingly. Miles' eyes glaze over and his body slumps down. "No-no-no-"_

_"Bass, you gotta go," they're suddenly back at Trenton and Miles' wound has migrated to his lower left side._

_"Forget it."_

_"Look at me, man- somebody's gotta lead the men," Miles says imploringly, rationally._

_"I don't care about the men," Bass bites back, the words familiar like a well rehearsed speech._

_"Don't argue with me."_

_"All the years, all the times I was in trouble- you never once left my side, you never ran. If you're dying, I'm dying with you," Bass promises him, as another explosion thunders in the background._

_"But I did run," Miles tells him, blood dripping down from the side of his mouth and he bares bloodstained teeth in a brutal grin. "I finally had enough of your bullshit, of having to fix your messes. Don't you see, Bass?" The blood starts oozing out of his eyes, his irises as black as night. "I'm already dead."_

_"… I mean where the hell would I be without you?" Miles tells him earnestly at the graveyard. "We've been brothers our **whole** lives, since we were kids." He pauses for a moment, before continuing. "Bass, give me the gun, before you do something stupid."_

_Bass gives him the gun and lets out another sob. "Why does everyone always leave me?"_

_"Probably because they know, deep down inside that you're **nothing** ," Miles smiles at him cruelly. "You're worthless- how could anyone even love you? Who the hell would be stupid enough to stick around?" He thumbs the safety and lifts the gun to his own head, before pulling the trigger._

 

~*~

 

Bass wakes up with a start, heart hammering and drenched in sweat. He takes a shaky breath and tries to focus on his breathing, to calm his heart. In-out-in-out-in-out… This can't go on much longer. Bass knows that one way or another, this has to end. He gets dressed, eats something and makes his way to the cell. He doesn't bring lunch with him this time, but he's brought something else and he keeps touching his jacket, making sure it's still in the inner pocket. He tells the guard to uncuff Miles and leave them, to go for a walk.

"But Sir-!"

"Does he _**look**_ like he's in any condition to try anything?" Bass asks crisply. "When I decide to leave, I'll use the key. You're dismissed." The guard hesitates for a moment, before he relents; he uncuffs Miles and takes off. Bass walks into the cell, locking it behind him. He didn't bring a chair with him; instead he startles Miles by sitting down on the cot with him.

"I find the décor in this place appalling," Bass says mildly, peeling a piece of paint off the wall. "Makes you miss the barracks in Iraq, doesn't it?"

"What do you want, Bass?" Miles asks exhaustedly, as though just forming the words is taxing.

"Do you remember when we were ten and they had that old monster movie marathon before Halloween?" Bass asks, smiling at the memory. "Ben didn't want us to watch, he said they were too _**scary**_ for little kids," he snorts in derision. "They were so cheesy and the monsters looked ridiculous, we weren't even frightened."

"That was a long time ago."

"Yeah, I know," Bass rubs at his bloodshot eyes. "So I found "Frankenstein" the book a few years ago. When I say 'found' what I really mean is that I took it from Tom's library and never returned it," Bass grins slyly.

"I remember being surprised at how different it was from the movie. I thought for _**years**_ that Frankenstein was the monster; I never realized it was the name of the Doctor," Bass muses. "Dr. Frankenstein wanted to play God and like Daedalus his loved ones paid the price for his arrogance and ambition. He creates the monster and then rejects him and runs away, like a coward."

"So who's the monster in this oh-so-subtle metaphor?" Miles inquires. "The Militia? You?"

"Actually I think it's an allegory," Bass replies. Miles rolls his eyes and Bass think if Miles had the energy, he'd probably make some snarky response. "The monster just wanted his creator to acknowledge him. He didn't ask to be hideous, it wasn't his fault that his look repulsed and scared people. He just didn't want to be alone."

"Your looks are definitely not the issue," Miles says slowly, derisively. "Maybe it's Frankenstein's fault for creating the creature in the first place, maybe it's his fault for leaving and not taking responsibility for him. The creature's not a monster because he's deformed, he's a monster because he murdered people; murdered Frankenstein's whole family, everyone he ever cared about."

Bass gives him a questioning look and Miles shrugs. "I found it in Tom's library ages ago; I just had the decency to put it back."

"Do you remember what happened when the two finally met in the end?" Bass asks him quietly. "Frankenstein died and the monster realized that finally getting his revenge didn't bring him any peace. He's consumed by guilt and remorse, disgusted by what he did and utterly miserable. He vows to kill himself on his own funeral pyre."

"Bass-"

"I'd say I was sorry, but that would be the understatement of the century," Bass laughs darkly. "I was always the impulsive one, the one that never thought things through and needed you to bail my ass out of trouble. How did we end up here, Miles? How did we become these people?"

"I dunno, Bass," Miles shakes his head heavily. "Maybe it was always in us, waiting to come out."

"It wasn't all bad though, was it?" Bass asks imploringly. "We tried to do something good, how did it go so wrong?"

"The world changed, the rules changed," Miles licks his chapped lips and leans back against the wall. "Eventually we stopped trying to fix it and just adapted, we let it change us."

"Can the world be fixed?" Bass asks him. "What happens if the Rebels win? Let's say they topple the government and take over the Republic- what then? Do you think Georgia, Texas, The Plains or California care about the 'United States'? They'd invade us and annex our lands. The 'United States' is a pipe dream, Miles. Surely, you know that."

"Yeah, I do," Miles agrees solemnly.

"So why did you join The Resistance? Why not just take your family and run?"

"Because I couldn't just give up without a fight," Miles says wistfully. "We had to try, even if we failed."

It doesn't sound like the Miles Matheson he knows, it sounds like he's quoting someone, so he ventures a guess: "Rachel?"

"Charlie," Miles replies sorrowfully.

Bass remembers the determined young woman who stated that there were more important things than family, who protected her brother and bravely volunteered to die in his stead. Bass wishes he could have gotten to know her, wishes the circumstances were different. He wishes for a lot of things these days.

"This has to end, one way or the other," Bass says resolutely. "I know that there's no chance in hell, but I want you to come back; it's what I've always wanted. It won't be easy, for anyone- but if you're serious about fixing things… We can try to bring The Militia back to what it used it be, before it all went wrong. We can try and bring the power back, for everyone."

Bass takes a deep breath, before continuing. "I know you can't forgive me- I can't forgive myself- and I don't expect you to." He takes out the cell's key and puts in on the ground. "You can knock me out and make a run for it, there's a tunnel not too far from here. You can get out of The Republic, lay low again. I promise I won't come looking for you."

Now comes the part that he's dreaded the most, but he has to say it. "I know you've given up fighting and what you want me to do… I can't, Miles- I can't watch you waste away and I can't kill you, but _**you**_ can." He takes his pistol out of his jacket's inner pocket. Miles' eyes widen and his posture stiffens.

"There are two bullets in here," he tells Miles, putting the gun on the ground, next to the key. "So if you're going to kill yourself, do me a favor and shoot me first."

"Bass-"

"I told you back in Trenton," Bass chokes out, tears filling his eyes. "That if you're dying, I'm dying with you- I meant it. You're right- everything we touch, everything we've created… We've corrupted it. The world is better off without us, hell maybe even The Republic is better off. Do you think Tom and Jeremy will do a better job than we could?" He laughs brokenly and meets Miles' eyes. "I'm tired too, brother and without you by my side, I'm not sure if I can do this anymore."

Bass waits with baited breath as Miles looks from the key, to the gun to Bass. He's not sure which of the options he's hoping for, to be honest. There's a part of him that feels that he's not strong enough to go on if Miles leaves and knows he's too weak to fix his mistakes, the evil he's created. Maybe he should have died at his family's grave long ago; or maybe he did die and all these years he's merely lingered like a tumor, consuming everything in his path. Maybe death by their own hands would be a fitting end for them, would finally let them both be at peace. Miles debates for agonizingly long seconds and an absurd part of Bass fervently hopes he picks _ **him**_ finally, despite everything.

Miles takes a deep breath and reaches out his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the ambiguous ending, I'm a very indecisive person. I would love to know what you believe was Miles' choice there at the end.


End file.
